We woke up to Mr. Grumpy Pants, Jr this morning. Somewhere along the way I married Mr. Suzy Sunshine who does not tolerate morning grumpiness. I had morning grumpiness down to a science at a very early age, so my patience level for Thane not wanting to talk in the morning is much higher than that of Jay. Jay woke Thane up this morning playing “Good Morning, Starshine” on his iPhone. I told him it sounded like something from the Lost soundtrack.

After struggling with shirt choices for some time (although not as bad as Rachel’s 45 minute shorts conversation) we got him and Mara (who had two different socks on her feet and one on her hand) and somehow made it to school before breakfast was over.

I made it to work in one piece so decided to splurge on some Starbucks, which is literally right across from my office.

I got an Iced Mocha Coconut (Coffee, not Frappucino, so it was nice and sloshy). The drink looks like melted dark chocolate with some ice swirling around, aka, my version of heaven.

I get in the car, blast some of my new Katy Perry E.T. on the radio (don’t judge me) and drive away. I am feeling pretty good in my cute new Ann Taylor Loft outfit: lightweight navy sweater, blank tank top, and cute “barely-pink, they are almost white,” capris. It is not going to be such a bad day after all.

I drive off. I take a turn. The Mocha does not. It goes flying. And, where does it fall? The floor? The console? The front of my leg?

No. No. No.

I imagine the drink jumped up and into my chair and fell directly on my ass.

My brand new, cute, barely-pink capris look like I crapped on myself. (Pardon the language but this exactly what I thought, and really, there is no nicer way to say that.)

There is nothing in the back of the car except a pair of Jay’s old jeans. I am 2 minutes from work but almost a 40 minute return drive if I decide to go home. Plus, I have a conference call soon.

I risk it. I walk into my job of 1 month and 1 day, sweater pulled down in back as far as it will bear, turn on my computer and run to the bathroom. I run into one person on the way there. We have a nice hallway conversation and I do a backwards walk as she and I pass, continuing to talk to each other.

In the bathroom, the damage is not so bad and my sweater covers all of it. I am also able to get most of it out with a few exceptions, which will hopefully come out in the wash. I do make the mistake of dousing the whole thing with water, which proceeds to drip down the pant legs, but the wet look is a hundred times better than the poop look. I went back to my desk with the least populated route possible.

If you need me, I will be here, in my office, behind my desk, sipping my Iced Mocha.